


No Object

by jedusaur



Category: Bandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Barebacking, M/M, Prostitution, Sharing, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-06
Updated: 2010-12-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedusaur/pseuds/jedusaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first blowjob Pete gets from Ryan is startlingly mediocre, considering that it's the kid's job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Object

The first blowjob Pete gets from Ryan is startlingly mediocre, considering that it's the kid's job.

Ryan stands up, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. He leans his head against the concrete wall above Pete's shoulder, eyes closed. He looks tired.

Pete sorts out two twenties and a ten from his wallet and holds them up. He crinkles the bills when Ryan doesn't notice. "You said fifty, right?" he asks, and Ryan straightens up and takes it.

Pete sticks his wallet back in his pocket. "How much do you charge to pretend you're enjoying it?" he asks, a little snidely, because the blowjob really wasn't worth fifty dollars.

Ryan sighs and rubs one eye with his fingertips. "I'm sorry. I know that was awful. I've had a really bad day. Listen, come back again and I'll give you another one half-price, all right? I promise I can do better."

Twenty-five is pretty good for a blowjob in L.A., and it wasn't _bad_ , just not particularly good. "Gonna give me a coupon or something?"

"I'll remember you," he promises. Pete is dubious--he knows exactly how special one leering guy with a handful of cash is to a teenager selling ass on the street--but the kid sounds like he means it.

***

He doesn't see Ryan again for two months. When he does, he's completely forgotten about the offer. Ryan is just another lithe young body in a line of lithe young bodies pockmarking the sidewalk. But, true to his word, he recognizes Pete.

"Back for your bargain?" he asks. Pete blinks at him for a second before the twitch of Ryan's mouth reminds him of what it looked like wrapped around his cock. He nods. Ryan jerks his head toward a nearby alley. Pete follows him there, admiring the gangly grace of his thin limbs as he walks.

The second time is, as promised, better. It's so much better that Pete spends the five minutes it takes him to come seriously considering the merits of adding Ryan to his household staff. He's just managed to work out that he could bring him on in place of the cook (and Pete can so, so survive on takeout Chinese in exchange for having this tongue at his beck and call) when Ryan deep-throats and meets his gaze, and he's gone.

"Good?" Ryan asks smugly, standing up.

"Holy shit" is all Pete can manage. He closes his eyes and catches his breath, wondering if this can really be the same kid as last time. "Fuck. Wow."

"Twenty-five," says Ryan. "Come on, fork it over. I've got full-price customers to get to."

Pete gives him fifty, because that blowjob _was_ worth it. "Are you usually on this block?" he asks.

Ryan nods. "On weeknights, yeah. Fridays and Saturdays things get crowded, so I tend to gravitate toward the area with the weakest concentration of competition."

"You sound pretty smart for a guy selling blowjobs." Pete buckles his belt.

Ryan frowns defensively. "I'm smart enough to grasp the concept of supply and demand. It isn't exactly rocket science."

"I'm not picking on you," says Pete, even though he kind of was. "And I'm sure as hell not trying to discourage you from selling blowjobs. To me, at least. What's your slowest night?"

"Tuesday."

"I'll see you on Tuesday, then," Pete says. He has found a gem among prostitutes, and he is not going to lose track of it.

***

On Tuesday, Pete pulls his car to the curb right in front of Ryan and pushes the button to roll down the passenger window. Ryan leans on the sill. "You're gonna get a ticket if you park here," he says. "Curb's red."

"I'm not parking," Pete says. "Hop in, we're going somewhere nice."

"I dunno, mister. Got any candy?"

"I've got four hundred bucks for two hours," Pete says, and Ryan actually slithers in through the window without opening the door. Pete laughs and hits the gas.

He takes them to a hotel. It's not one of the really ritzy ones he stays in when he travels, but it's probably fancier than most of the places Ryan has been fucked. Pete pays for a whole night at the desk, because this isn't the sort of establishment that charges by the hour, and they take the mirrored elevator up to the eleventh floor.

"How many dicks have been in your ass so far tonight?" Pete asks conversationally as he opens the door to the room.

"Three," Ryan answers. "And two in my mouth. You want me to shower, right?"

"Hell no. Would I have picked up a sixteen-year-old whore with cocksucking lips like those in West Hollywood at two in the morning if I was looking for a squeaky-clean fuck? Clothes off, face-down on the bed, and convince me you like it."

"I'm eighteen," Ryan mutters, but doesn't pretend it matters. He strips quickly, having obviously picked up on the fact that Pete isn't looking for a show, and sprawls out on top of the comforter with his legs spread, his asshole reddish and used and inviting.

"What's your condom policy?" Pete asks.

Ryan snorts. "Would I be licking my cocksucking lips at traffic in West Hollywood at two in the morning if I gave a shit about getting STDs?"

This is a very fair point, and the sight of Ryan's ass sticking up in the air eradicates Pete's interest in chatting about health safety. He unzips, crawls on top of Ryan, and shoves in without preamble, already hard with anticipation. Ryan's ready, slick from his previous fucks and prepared from experience with thoughtless, lubeless douchebags like Pete. It's sexy as hell, thinking about how many others have been here before, how many guys must have hurt Ryan before he learned how to relax and take it. Pete fucks him hard, feeling the squish inside from the semen of three other men.

Ryan takes his instructions to heart, making noise like Pete's the best thing that's ever happened to his prostate. Pete knows it's an act, but he also knows what he likes. It won't be long before his higher cognitive functions shut down and it won't matter whether the moans are sincere. Sure enough, Ryan's squirms and gasps send his self-awareness into orbit, and the next thing he knows he's lying draped on top of Ryan, panting and shaking from the aftershocks.

Ryan doesn't object, but Pete knows he must be making it hard to breathe, so he rolls off as soon as he can. Ryan stares at him impassively. "That's half an hour, travel time included," he says. "You've got another ninety minutes of me. What's the plan?"

"The plan," Pete tells him, "is a regrettable but physiologically necessary intermission, then more sex."

"Sounds good," says Ryan. He turns over and blinks at the ceiling, waiting. He's not erect, which makes Pete feel a little bad. Ryan sees him looking and smiles a little. "It's not you. The last guy wanted me to come twice for him in fifteen minutes. Kinda tapped out my reserves. If you'd been my first client of the night, I'd definitely be hard right now."

"Thanks, but you don't have to fake your love for my cock unless you're riding it," Pete says dryly. "I'm only gonna believe that bullshit when my reptile brain is in charge."

Ryan shoots him an impressively condescending glare. "I didn't say I loved your cock, I said you're not actually a terrible enough lay to leave me completely flaccid. Sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear."

"You're kind of a bitch, aren't you?" says Pete.

"So're you."

Pete does not contest this. "So you're smart, and you're not a pushover. How come you don't ask for payment up front?"

"I do, usually," says Ryan. "The first time I blew you, I'd been... it was a bad day. I forgot to get the money beforehand. The second time was supposed to be twenty-five bucks, so it didn't really matter much."

"And this time?"

He shrugs. "I dunno. Call me nuts, but you don't strike me as the dine-and-dash type. I mean, you shelled out for a hotel room, and you paid me twice what I asked for last time. I'm pretty sure you're not a cheapskate."

"Mm," says Pete, satisfied. He looks over at Ryan. Those lips really are lovely. "Do you kiss?"

"If the person asking isn't too gross," says Ryan, and crawls on top of Pete to kiss him before he can inquire as to his own grossness quotient. Ryan, for his part, is just about the opposite of gross. His lips feel exactly as delectable as they look. It doesn't take much making out to get Pete hard again.

"You can have lube if you want this time," Pete offers.

Ryan shakes his head, moving to straddle him. "I've had four guys' loads up there tonight, I think I'm good," he says, and slides down onto Pete's cock. The words and the sensation combined make Pete shiver with arousal. He pumps up with his hips, encouraging, and Ryan settles into a slow, deep rhythm.

Ryan actually gets hard after a while. Pete strokes his thighs gently, enjoying the leisurely buildup of pleasure. "Can I smack your ass?" he asks.

Ryan grins at him. "Ask nicely like that and there's not much I'm gonna say no to," he says. "Here, let me make it easier for you." He twists sideways, leans his hands on the bed behind him, kicks a leg over Pete's chest, swings his other leg around, and swivels his body to face Pete's feet, all without breaking rhythm.

"Holy crap." Pete stares at Ryan's undulating back. Ryan glances coyly over his shoulder, clearly pleased with himself. "Can I just keep you forever?"

"Ask nicely like that and pay two hundred dollars an hour, and I'm yours as long as you want me."

Pete smacks Ryan's ass. The cook can definitely go.

***

He doesn't actually fire his cook to keep a permanent rent boy in the house, of course, but he does start visiting Ryan almost every week. It's not always two hours in a hotel room, but it's always mindblowing. The kid has serious talent.

He comes around eight o'clock one time, hours before he usually shows up. "Hey, Pete," Ryan greets him, surprised. "What are you doing here now?" He steps up close to murmur in Pete's ear. "I haven't had a chance to get stretched out and dirty for you yet. I know that's how you like it. You want me after I've been passed around town for a while. You want my ass dripping with other people's come, not fresh and tight like it is right now."

Pete swallows. "I'm not paying you for the dirty talk," he says.

Ryan smiles. "On the house. So how come you're here so early?"

"I have a proposition."

"I like it when you have propositions," Ryan says cheerfully. "They involve me getting money."

Pete nods. "And you don't even have to do anything you wouldn't already be doing for this one. I want to watch you with your other clients before I fuck you."

"Two hundred," Ryan says immediately. "On top of the normal rate for the fuck. Stay back where no one can see you. No interfering."

"Deal."

Ryan folds his arms. "I mean it about interfering. Mostly I just get quickies, but sometimes I do shit that isn't pleasant. Turn around if you don't like it."

"I got it."

The first few just shove their cocks down Ryan's throat or fuck him against the wall. All they want is a warm, wet hole, and that's what they get. Ryan takes their money beforehand every time, and doesn't look toward Pete once. The fourth guy ties Ryan's hands behind his back and jacks off on his face, which is more interesting--not the act itself, but Ryan's reactions. From the way he begs to be fucked and then looks crushed while he's getting the facial, Pete guesses this is a repeat customer. Ryan wouldn't play disappointment like that unless he knew it was what the guy wanted.

After that guy leaves, while Ryan's wiping himself off, another kid around his age comes into the alley and talks to him. Pete can't see Ryan's face, but the other kid is smiling and standing comfortably, like they're close. The kid kisses Ryan on the lips before they both go back out to the street, and Ryan lets him.

There's one more blowjob an hour later, then Ryan comes back into the alley alone. "I'm gonna head home soon," he says to Pete. "You wanna take your turn?"

Pete takes him to the back seat of his car. "Who's the kid that kissed you?" he asks as he fucks him. "Your boyfriend?"

"That's Brendon," says Ryan. "Words like 'boyfriend' don't mean a whole lot in my world, but he's the only guy I fuck for free."

"Would you fuck him for money?"

"You want to watch us?" Ryan laughs a little, still deftly clenching his ass around Pete's cock as he talks, like he doesn't need to pay attention. "I'll ask him."

***

Brendon agrees, and the next week Pete takes them to a hotel room that he knows comes equipped with a comfy office chair. Brendon is less wary than he should be, which makes Pete wonder what Ryan has said about him.

"So what do you want to see?" asks Ryan, shucking off his clothes. He knows by now that stripteases do precisely nothing for Pete.

Pete settles into the office chair, legs crossed. "I want Brendon to show me what you like," he says.

Ryan tilts his head. "You've never expressed the slightest interest in what I like."

"That's because you're an unusually competent hooker," Pete explains. "You're good at manipulating people. You know what turns me on, so if I'd asked what you like, you would have lied to keep me coming back. Brendon doesn't know what turns me on, and he does know what turns you on, so he's a more logical person to ask. So, Brendon, what does he like?"

Brendon is watching Ryan's face and giggling. "He likes compliments," he says. "What you said just now about him being unusually competent, he liked that a lot."

"Brendon!" Ryan snaps. He looks much less sure of himself now. "I don't know if this is a good idea."

"Oh, shush," Brendon says. He takes off his shoes and wriggles up the bed to kiss Ryan deeply. Ryan relaxes, now that the show is physical. Pete almost wants to break it up to get Brendon talking again, but they have time.

Brendon strokes Ryan's body lightly. "He likes having his hips touched," he murmurs into the kiss, just loudly enough for Pete to hear. His fingertips caress Ryan's side. "He likes it when I kiss his neck." He moves his lips across Ryan's cheek and over his jaw, sucking gently at the skin beneath his ear. Ryan gasps softly. It doesn't sound fake.

"He likes touching me," Brendon says, and Ryan takes the hint, pulling off Brendon's clothes and tossing them aside. "He likes fucking me," and Ryan rolls them both over, kissing Brendon hard. He doesn't let him speak again for a while, but when he finally moves away to grab some lube from the bedside table where Pete left it, Brendon says, "He likes being in charge, most of the time, but sometimes he wants me to hold him down and take control. I think it's because I do it for him, not for me."

"Brendon," Ryan says in a low, warning tone.

"Sorry," Brendon whispers. He opens his legs, and Ryan lubes him up much more slowly and carefully than Pete has ever done for anyone. Brendon is whining desperately to be fucked minutes before Ryan slides in, hooking Brendon's legs over his shoulders and kissing him. The position doesn't look comfortable, but Brendon looks like he's enjoying it. He definitely sounds like he's enjoying it.

"Fuck, Ryan, oh god, right there, don't stop," he's panting, softly enough that Pete's sure it isn't for his benefit. He'd been planning to fuck Ryan afterwards, but he's starting to think he doesn't want to. He strokes himself instead, watching them lose themselves in each other. Ryan comes first and stays inside Brendon, rubbing him all over with firm hands, squeezing his orgasm out of his entire body. Pete comes from the sight of it.

Later, when Ryan is in the bathroom cleaning up, Brendon says to Pete, "I'm not a whore."

Pete raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not. I work at a convenience store. This is the first time I've ever done anything like this."

"Why'd you do it this time, then?"

Brendon glances toward the bathroom door. "Ryan wanted me to," he says quietly.

Pete doesn't know what to say to that. "I'm not trying to steal your boyfriend," he tries. "I'm just a guy paying to get my rocks off."

"No, it's not..." Brendon sighs. "It's not like that. It's not about who owns him. He owns himself, he just lets other people have bits of him sometimes. Most people get his body. I have his affection. But you've got his attention. And I don't think he knows what to do about that."

Ryan comes back out before Pete can ask what the hell that's supposed to mean.

***

The next time Pete asks to watch Ryan with his other customers, he won't let him.

"Is this about Brendon?" Pete asks.

Ryan blinks. "What? No. You can do it again some other time, just not today. Do you want a blowjob or something?" He looks tired, in a way Pete recognizes. A bad feeling settles in his stomach.

"No, I don't," Pete says and pulls his car away from the curb. He drives around the corner, parks, and sneaks around the back of the alley. He doesn't watch Ryan fucking people, just takes a look at each new one that comes in. He's almost convinced himself that he was just being paranoid when a huge guy drags Ryan into the alley by the arm. He shoves Ryan face-first against the side of a building and grabs him by the neck, pinning Ryan's head back against his shoulder.

Ryan does roleplaying stuff sometimes, so it's possible that he consented to this, but Pete really, really doesn't think so. He's practically dangling, sneakers barely brushing the ground, held up only by the guy's hand around his neck and his hips pressed against the concrete wall. The guy looks like he's humping Ryan's ass while Ryan is still struggling, but he waits until Ryan has gone limp to yank his pants down and fuck him. Ryan hangs there, head lolling back onto the guy's shoulder, taking it without a fight. Pete can't tell if he's even conscious.

Pete doesn't intervene. He doesn't intervene because Ryan asked him not to, because he isn't even supposed to be watching, and because this guy could kick his ass. These are all solid reasons to stay back, but he can't think about anything except how much he wants to punch the bastard in the face.

The guy finishes and drops Ryan in a heap on the ground to zip up, not bothering with Ryan's pants. He doesn't pay. The second he's out of sight around the corner, Pete sprints over to Ryan and lands on his knees, grabbing Ryan's face. "Fuck, Ryan, are you okay? Are you alive?"

Ryan doesn't respond. Pete calls 911.

He wakes up in the ambulance. "What the fuck, Pete," he rasps, looking around. "I can't afford this shit."

"I'll pay the fucking bill. Stop talking, you'll wreck your throat even more."

Ryan glowers at him silently the whole way to the hospital. The emergency room doctors say that he's bruised and should rest for a few days, but there shouldn't be any permanent damage. Pete calls a cab and tells the driver to take them to his house.

"I have to work tonight," Ryan protests hoarsely as Pete manhandles him into the back of the cab.

"Didn't you hear the doctor?" Pete asks incredulously. "You're not even supposed to be talking right now. I'm pretty sure gulping cock is not on the list of acceptable activities. I'll give you money if you need it."

"Yeah, sorry, but I live in the real world," says Ryan. "I don't exactly have a college fund to dip into for emergencies, and I'm not gonna let you pay me to lie around looking pretty like some kind of fucking--" He breaks off, coughing miserably.

Pete shakes his head. "Listen, Ryan. I'm a fan of your throat, okay? As long as it's on the market, I plan to continue fucking it on a regular basis. I would like it to be healthy and strong for selfish purposes involving how tightly you are capable of contracting it around my dick. Light's green," he says to the cab driver, who is watching in the rearview mirror with great interest. "Now, if you can't bring yourself to take care of your body for your own sake, can you at least accept that I have my own reasons for wanting you healthy and not argue with me about this?"

Ryan tries to say something, but just ends up collapsing in another fit of coughing.

"Okay, I'm just gonna go ahead and interpret that as a yes," says Pete.

He gets Ryan inside his house with a minimum of complaint, probably because Ryan is about ready to pass out again. Before he does, Pete talks him into giving up Brendon's phone number. Brendon shows up half an hour after he calls, looking tired and worried. Pete waves him into the master bedroom where he deposited Ryan. When he comes back to check on them, they're asleep, curled tightly around each other.

Pete stands in the doorway for a moment. They both look far too young.

He sleeps in the spare room.

***

Brendon is perfectly willing to accept Pete's money on Ryan's behalf, and expresses his gratitude any way he can, from making pancakes to cleaning the bathroom. Pete lets him, even though he has a cook and a cleaning service. The pancakes are lumpy and a little burned, but Pete eats them.

Once, Brendon sits next to Pete on the couch and trails a tentative hand up his thigh. His eyes are wide, and he looks like he's scared shitless. Pete takes the hand in his own and pulls him close with his other arm, just hugging, just holding him tight. The tension drains from Brendon's muscles, and he hugs back just as tightly. "I want him to get better too," Pete says. "You don't owe me anything, okay?"

Brendon nods and smushes his nose into Pete's neck.

Two days after the trip to the hospital, when Ryan is mostly recovered and pressing to be released, Pete walks in on Brendon fucking Ryan on his bed. Brendon's on top, both of them facedown, and Brendon is pinning Ryan's arms against the mattress. Pete tries to leave inconspicuously, but Ryan looks up and says, "Stay."

"It's okay," says Pete. "I don't--"

" _Pete._ Shut the fuck up and take off your pants. Brendon's almost done and I need you to make me come."

Pete is not a noble enough man to walk away from that.

Brendon comes with a shudder while Pete's getting undressed and pulls out. "Come on, Pete, now," Ryan says, and he's good enough at this that the plea in his voice might be feigned, but Pete's seen him with Brendon before and he doesn't think it is. He slides his cock into Ryan's ass, still slippery with Brendon's come.

Brendon sits next to them, leaning on one elbow, watching. "Hold down his arms," he says.

Pete shakes his head, but Ryan says, "Please, Pete," and it turns out Brendon does know what Ryan likes, after all. He moans and thrusts back onto Pete's cock, and when Pete comes inside him and they both roll onto their sides, there's a wet spot on the sheet underneath him.

"You guys didn't have to do that," says Pete.

Ryan looks at him like he's crazy. "You just made me come without touching my dick," he says. "You think I was doing you a favor?"

Pete shrugs. "So," he says, "was that guy the bad day you were having when I met you?" They haven't talked about it, but he figures he might as well take advantage of the afterglow to try to milk some information out of Ryan before he bolts.

"Yeah. I'm not too good at giving head for a while after he does that." Ryan's voice is carefully casual.

"Don't you have a pimp or something to take care of those people? I didn't see him give you any money."

Ryan laughs. "Nope, I'm my own man. I get to keep all my money, and I get to deal with situations like that on my own."

Pete frowns. "And your method of dealing with it is to just let him do it?"

"Apparently, my method of dealing with it is acquiring a voyeuristic stalker sugar daddy to handle it for me against my will," Ryan says. He's starting to look annoyed.

"I wasn't watching voyeuristically that time," Pete says. "I was just keeping an eye out because you sounded like something was wrong. You sounded like you knew he was coming."

"I did." Ryan doesn't sound mad anymore, just resigned. "He tells me when he's going to do it. It's a power trip, I think he likes winding me up. It's not like I can just disappear and avoid him, not without giving up my block and all my regulars."

Pete feels a pinch of frustration inside. Brendon is staring at his knees sadly, like he's had this conversation and he knows how it goes.

"Well, thanks for the fuck, I guess," Pete says, and reaches for his jeans.

***

Two weeks later, Pete stops by Ryan's block at one in the morning and waits until a middle-aged guy emerges from the alley, followed shortly by Ryan.

"Hey," says Pete.

Ryan sees him and brightens. "Hey, Pete."

"I hear tell there's a kid around here who gives blowjobs like a Hoover with a thirst for jizz. Know where I might be able to find him?"

"I think there's a car wash down the street with some splooge-happy vacuum hoses," says Ryan, grinning. He wraps his arms around Pete's waist and kisses him tenderly, like he means it. It's unnerving but nice.

"I want you to come to my apartment," Ryan says. "I want to give you a blowjob, and I don't want you to pay for it." Pete opens his mouth, but Ryan keeps talking over him. "It's not because I feel like I owe you. I do owe you, but I don't want to work out how many blowjobs I owe you and stop when I get there. I don't want to stop. Ever."

"Your jaw might get kind of tired," says Pete, because he doesn't know what he's supposed to say. Actually, no, he does know what to say: "What about Brendon?"

Ryan takes his hand and starts walking down the sidewalk. They end up in an all-night food mart a block away. Brendon looks up from behind the counter, sees their joined hands, and grins widely. "You found him," he says.

"You guys have been to my house," objects Pete. "I'm not that hard to locate."

Brendon shakes his head, still smiling. "Not what I meant."

Pete orders Ryan to get lost in the back of the store for a minute, and leans his elbows on the counter. "He told me once that you're the only guy he fucks for free," he says to Brendon.

"It's not the actual free sex that matters," Brendon tells him. "It's him being willing to have sex for free. If you were going to fuck us up, it would have happened way back when he first fell for you. It didn't. You want my blessing?" He leans over and kisses Pete's forehead. "There. Blessed. Go make him happy."

***

Ryan's apartment is a shithole. It's tiny and cold and smells funky. He doesn't try to apologize for it, just tosses his head back and silently dares Pete to say anything. Pete doesn't.

They start out kissing, which isn't how they've ever done things before. Ryan leads the way to the decrepit mattress in the corner and pulls Pete down on top of him, still kissing him. After a minute of making out, he pulls back, suddenly serious. "I'm a whore," he says. "I'm staying a whore."

"I know," says Pete. "I like being last in line for your ass, remember?"

"That dickwad who strangles me is going to be back. That's my problem. I don't want you stalking me anymore."

"No stalking," says Pete. He'll talk to Brendon and work out a more effective strangling prevention strategy.

"And I'm not your kept boy. You're not allowed to buy me shit."

"Am I allowed to buy you breakfast?"

Ryan's eyes light up. "You're staying the night?"

"Only if I get to buy you breakfast," says Pete. He slides a hand up under Ryan's shirt, stroking his hip.

"Okay. You can buy me breakfast." He shivers. "Can I fuck you now? Please?"

"Ask nicely like that," Pete murmurs, "and there's not much I'm gonna say no to."


End file.
